This Christmas, You Have My Heart
by Heroes Fly-Minho's Hero Limps
Summary: Anothere Xmas story! :) If you let someone go that you can't live without, are you strong enough to get them back?


Three weeks.

That was how long it had been since Minho and Newt had broken up.

Three, long, torturous weeks.

The Friday of the third week found Minho lounging on a couch in Thomas's living room, playing a video game. Why was he at Thomas's? Because Thomas was his best friend, and was the only person he could think to come to, and he needed someone else to be there, anyone at all, and also, Thomas had a sick gaming system. Minho may have looked and felt like crap, but at least he was enjoying it by shooting the hell out of zombies on a flat screen TV.

But seriously. He did look like crap. He'd thrown on a pair of gray sweatpants and an old white, long-sleeved shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he held the controller. His hair, which was always carelessly spiked, now looked plain careless and messy. Black strands refused to stay up and fell across his eyes. He could've cared that he was a wreck now, but he chose not to even acknowledge it. Everything was fine, he kept saying. He had broken up with Newt after all, not the other way around. He was fine.

All of those happy feelings of denial were crushed when the front door slammed and Theresa marched in, fuming. Her ebony hair fell in a rippling sheet down her back and her blue eyes sparked with anger when she saw Minho. For once, she looked ten times better than he did, which was really saying something because everyone had always found Minho to be unfairly good-looking. What a nice change. Theresa threw her hands up. "What're you doing?" she demanded sharply.

Minho didn't look up from his game. "Playing a game," he answered shortly. "Thomas is upstairs, if you wanna talk to him."

"I want to talk to you."

"That must suck, because I'm not in a mood to talk."

"Minho!" Theresa scolded, dropping her arms to her sides in disgust. "Look at you! You're falling apart!"

Minho scoffed. "I am not."

"Yes, you are, you are sitting on Thomas's couch, playing video games in freaking sweatpants, and you haven't left that spot for three weeks." She gestured at him in obvious revulsion.

"Maybe I just really like spending my time shooting zombies," Minho suggested lightly. He shot her a warning glance. "And not talking to people."

"You're in denial," she concluded firmly.

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"Theresa."

"You're still in love with Newt."

Minho's grip tightened on the controller. "I broke up with him," he growled, anger and regret tangled up in his voice. "We're done. I'm done. Stay out of it."

"You know what, no." Theresa strode to him and snatched the controller out of his hands. She jabbed the pause button as he swore at her and scrambled to his feet. She met his burning gaze unflinchingly, even though Minho was six inches taller and 95% muscle. "You're not doing this anymore. You are a wreck, Minho."

Minho pointed a finger at her face, seething. "Don't order me around," he shot back. "I did what I had to do and it's over, okay?"

"No it's not over!" she protested. She threw the controller onto the couch. "You're becoming an awful person. You're sinking into some black hole inside of you and you're not going to come out, ever, if you don't admit that you need Newt."

"I don't need him!" Minho snapped. "All right? This is what I do, Theresa. I find a person, I date that person, I break their heart, and then I move on to the next. That is my life story; always has been, always will be. Maybe it does mean I'm a sick asshole, but it's just who I am."

"It doesn't have to be," she argued. "Newt changed you. You know he did."

"I don't have to listen to this," Minho brushed her off, turning away. A sick feeling was constricting his heart and he didn't like it.

"Don't walk away from this, Minho," she called after him. There was an edge of steel in her voice.

"Too late."

"Did you ever wonder why you're acting like this? Why you're so messed up now?"

"Not really, no."

"Then wonder about it now; tell me why. Why are you like this?"

"I don't know."

"Tell me why," she insisted relentlessly.

"I don't know."

"Why are you like this?" She raised her voice, practically shouting at him.

Minho snapped. He whirled on her, a black look in his eyes, and shouted, "because I still love him! Happy now?" Theresa was silent, wide-eyed, because she hadn't expected him to give in. Minho raked his fingers through his hair and laced them behind his head. His eyes glistened. "I still love him, and it hurts so damn bad."

Theresa stared at him in shock for a few seconds more. Then her expression softened and she took a step closer to him. "Then find him and tell him that," she replied gently.

"What if he doesn't take me back?" Minho mumbled. He sounded like such a mess, and he hated it. But he was so terrified of losing Newt forever; just the thought of it sickened him with fear and broke his heart even more.

Theresa touched his arm comfortingly. "He will," she told him, a small smile touching her lips. "He loves you, Minho. I know he does."

Minho swallowed hard. "I can't live without him, Theresa," he admitted in a small voice.

"I know," she replied, patting his shoulder soothingly. "But you have to tell him that, or you'll never forgive yourself."

And deep down, he knew she was right.

-o-o-o-

Standing outside Newt's door was the hardest thing Minho had ever done in his life. He had never gotten back together with someone after breaking up with them. Never. His pride had always gotten in the way. Besides, he'd never felt anything for others that was like what he felt for Newt.

He had cleaned up (finally, Theresa had said) and he wore a pair of faded skinny jeans and a charcoal-gray T-shirt. His heart was in his throat though as he knocked on the door and waited. He shoved his hands in his pockets worriedly. What was he supposed to say? What if he screwed up? What if Newt didn't want him anymore? What if—?

The door swung open and there was Newt, in all his glory, making Minho pale in comparison. His shock of blonde hair was just as soft-looking as Minho remembered, and those dark blue eyes were just as beautiful. He was wearing dark jeans and a navy shirt that brought out the color of his eyes. He was so incredibly handsome and it hurt. His eyes widened when he saw Minho, his body stiffening. "...Minho?"

"Yeah," Minho sighed. "It's me. Can...can I come in?" He glanced up at Newt, a hint of pleading in his expression.

"I... Yeah, sure," Newt replied, confusion and a faint edge of pain in his voice. He stepped aside, letting Minho pass through the doorway first before closing it behind him.

Newt's house was open and light, with white walls and dark, warm-colored furniture. Minho walked past the stairway with its carved wooden banister, down the hall that led to the kitchen. Newt was behind him, a presence he could feel at his back, that sent shocks down his spine. He paused, letting Newt slip past him to enter the kitchen first. Newt glanced back over his shoulder. "Um. Do you want something to drink? You look a little tired."

There was concern in his words and it made Minho's chest fill with affection. Newt was worried about him. He swallowed hard. "Sure, that'd be great," he answered, managing a slight smile.

Newt pulled open the fridge and stood for a second, searching inside. Minho stared at the smooth curve of Newt's neck, at the shape of his shoulders under his shirt, at the seductive way his eyes became half-lidded when he was thinking. Then Newt snagged two cans of soda and kicked the door shut with his heel, breaking the moment. He passed one to Minho, making sure their hands didn't touch and sending a prick of pain into Minho's heart. Then he leaned against the marble kitchen island, resting an elbow on it. "So, why did you come over? I mean, I haven't seen you for...a while."

This was it. Say it. Say it. Minho's hands shook. "I wanted to talk to you," he answered lamely. Shuck it, Minho, what's wrong with you?!

"What about?" Newt asked, before snapping his soda can open with a hiss. Minho took a breath to speak, but stopped when Newt raised the can to his lips. He was utterly caught with the way Newt's eyelids drooped when he drank, leaving only a spark of deep azure beneath. His head tipped back slightly, showing the graceful stretch of his neck. A lock of blonde hair slipped down into his eyes. Minho watched, enraptured, as Newt's throat moved when he swallowed.

This angel, this lovely, blonde angel, couldn't belong to anyone else. Minho felt it with all of his heart. A surge of awful longing and love tore his chest open. Newt was his. Newt could not belong to someone else, could not let someone else tease him or make him laugh or God forbid, touch him. Minho wanted all of that, needed all of that. After so long of not getting in too deep or caring too much, here he was, helplessly in love. A tremble ran through him. The words left him before he could think.

"I love you."

Newt froze. He slowly dropped his hand to the table, still holding the can. His eyes were wide in astonishment, his mouth slightly open. He stared at Minho, unable to form a response.

Stupid, stupid Minho! What's wrong with you? Minho dropped his gaze to the floor. "It's true," he mumbled into the silence. "I love you. And I'm such a shucking idiot for letting you go. I wasn't thinking." He glanced up then. Newt was still quiet and Minho panicked. "I know I hurt you, Newt, and I never should've done that to you. You deserve so much more than that. You're—you're kind and smart and funny and sweet and the most gorgeous guy I've ever seen. I want to make this right, but I'm terrified right now, terrified that you'll throw me out and never talk to me again. I don't know what—"

"Minho." Minho broke off at Newt's voice, looking up to realize that Newt was now right in front of him. There were only three inches between them and Minho swore that he could feel the heat from Newt's body. His pulse revved up, and his hands trembled from the effort it took to not touch Newt, and he was about to say something when suddenly, Newt seized him by the back of his neck and crushed their mouths together.

Minho's heart stopped beating. His mind cleared of all but one thought: Newt. Newt, his fingers spread on the back of Minho's neck. Newt, close enough that their chests brushed. Newt, his mouth on Minho's at last, soft and addictive. Newt, kissing him. Minho moaned low in his throat and kissed Newt back with a hunger he didn't know he had. His hands came up to Newt's waist, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him even closer. Newt slipped his fingers up into Minho's hair, tugging lightly and earning another soft sound of pleasure. Minho didn't know if he was dreaming, but he didn't care. As long as Newt was here in his arms, he would live this dream as long as he could.

Newt angled his head, deepening the kiss. Minho felt hands at his shoulders, clawing his shirt up his back. He broke away long enough to peel his shirt off and drop it carelessly on the floor. Newt's followed soon after; he hardly had time to get it off before Minho hauled the other boy up against him, pressing their mouths together again. Minho was absolutely drunk with the feel of Newt, skin on skin. Newt's hands were everywhere, sliding down Minho's chest, tracing the strong ripple of his abs, climbing up his back. He felt nails dig gently into the place below his shoulder blades and gasped. Newt broke the kiss, breathing raggedly. "Bed," he breathed into Minho's mouth.

Minho's last shred of self-control snapped. Without thinking, he lifted Newt up, making the other boy wrap his legs around his waist. He backed up blindly, toward the stairway. Halfway up, he nearly dropped Newt right there, because the blonde angel was nuzzling Minho's jaw, whispering distracting promises to him. But he finally made it to Newt's bedroom and eased Newt back onto the bed and stretched himself out on top of him.

There was a tiny moment of silence then, with Newt gazing up at Minho through half-closed eyes and Minho trembling with the knowledge of what had passed between them, of what they were about to do. A half-smile tugged at Newt's lips. "God," he murmured, devotion brimming in his voice, "I never stopped loving you."

Happiness blossomed inside of Minho and filled his entire being. A sound caught between a laugh and a sob escaped him, right before Newt pulled his mouth back onto his.

-o-o-o-

"MERRY CHRISTMAS! I BROUGHT THE DRINKS!" Gally practically kicked Thomas's door down, a stupid grin on his face and a clattering mass of bottles in his arms.

Brenda, sitting in the living room with Thomas and Alby, shouted out to Gally. "Gally, don't you DARE bring that in here! Remember what happened the last time you got us all drunk?"

Gally flicked black hair out of his face and smiled even wider. "I remember!" he called back gleefully. "I bet Minho twenty bucks he wasn't strong enough to throw the flat screen out the window and across the street!"

Alby's deep voice snickered at that. "That was kinda great."

"Damn right it was!" Minho shouted, unseen from the kitchen. "I hit the neighbor's car!"

Laughter rose from all over the house then, followed by Thomas's grumbling complaints about how much it cost to replace his flat screen and how he had to walk across the street and explain to his neighbor how a TV ended up in his windshield. But Gally obediently set the drinks down at the door, leaving them there forgotten, and walked into the living room to join his friends. Meanwhile, Theresa was in the kitchen, attempting to bake Christmas cookies while Newt leaned against the counter, watching her failure and sneaking glances at Minho, who was rummaging around in the fridge for something edible.

"Why are there no cookies yet, Theresa?" Minho asked flatly. He was holding an apple in one hand and an orange in the other, looking at both with equal contempt in his eyes.

Theresa kicked the oven door shut again and turned on him with annoyance in her gaze. "Because I keep thinking they're done when they're not, and I want them to be perfect for us, because I care about my friends, because it's Christmas, so shut your mouth for the sixteenth time, Minho."

Minho groaned in exaggerated despair and chose the apple, throwing the orange down in the fridge. "How are you having so much trouble with freaking Christmas cookies?" he demanded, shoving the fridge door shut with his elbow. "I don't even like baking and I could've been done with those by now."

Theresa glared at him. "Good thing you're not baking then, because you'd probably poison everything like a moron."

"Nah, I'd only poison yours," he answered with a smile. At her scowl, he nonchalantly took a bite out of his apple, an innocent, round-eyed expression on his face.

"Newt, do me a favor and tell your 'sweetheart' over there to shut up," she muttered, turning back to examine the cookies again.

Newt cracked an amused grin. "Yeah, stop messing with Theresa," he put in, and Minho snorted in a yeah, that's gonna happen kind of way. Newt's grin turned mischievous and he pushed off the counter, crossing to stand in front of Minho. "C'mon, sweetheart, do it for me."

Theresa gave a bark of laugher as Minho blushed slightly at the new nickname. "Shut up," he muttered, suddenly very interested in studying the apple he was holding.

"Newt!" Theresa called out commandingly. "He's still yapping over there! I can't concentrate on the oven!"

Minho shot her a burning look. "Why don't you take that oven and shove it—" He was cut off by Newt hooking a finger in his neckline and kissing his mouth. Minho was taken off-guard at first, but he quickly melted at Newt's touch, becoming utterly helpless in the presence of his beautiful angel. Theresa sighed dreamily at the couple; she loved seeing them together and happy again, even if Minho could be a pain in the ass sometimes.

Newt drew back first. "I love you," he murmured. Theresa gave a little awwww! of delight and Newt's mouth quirked into a crooked smile.

Minho scoffed at both of them, all of his arrogance in place.

In reply, Newt circled his arms loosely around Minho's waist (swooning when he felt the six-pack hidden under Minho's shirt), and leaned his forehead against Minho's. "I said, I love you," he teased quietly.

Minho let out a growl, a sound that was both frustrated and dead-sexy, and huffed in defeat. "I love you, too," he mumbled, blushing again, receiving a giggle of happiness from Theresa. He rolled his eyes at both of them, but when Theresa's back was turned, he flashed Newt his trademark smirk and whispered, "I'll get my revenge later, sweetheart." He slung his fingers in Newt's belt loops and pressed a burning kiss to his mouth, running his tongue seductively along Newt's bottom lip. He didn't let go until he felt Newt shiver with pleasure. Arching an eyebrow at his now-stammering boyfriend, Minho took another bite out of his apple and winked, effectively stopping Newt's heart.

Alby burst into the room two seconds later, his expression screaming disapproval. "I need one of you to beat the shit out of Gally because he WON'T STOP SINGING CHRISTMAS CAROLS," he complained, dragging a hand over his face. As if on cue, raucous attempts at singing echoed from the living room.

Newt glanced at the ceiling as though praying for strength. "Oh God, not again."

Theresa lifted her hands to her shoulders. "I won't beat someone up on Christmas Eve."

Minho grinned and pushed his sleeves up his arms. "I will."

"No, you won't," Theresa and Newt chorused drily.

"You shanks are no fun," Minho retorted, folding his arms across his chest like a child who had just been scolded.

"You're idea of fun is chucking flat screens into people's cars!" Theresa pointed out.

Alby chuckled at that, and Minho smirked proudly. "That is one of my better traits," he admitted. "My idea of fun."

"Oh, really?" Theresa deadpanned. "What's one of your worse traits then?"

Newt spoke up at that. "He has a gigantic soft spot for kittens."

Alby looked as though he'd just found the cure to cancer. "Really?"

"SHUT YOUR FREAKING MOUTH," Minho snapped, turning bright red, which was so unlike him that it only confirmed that Newt's accusation was true.

They laughed and teased, and when Theresa's cookies were finally done, they all headed into the living room together. Minho promptly shoved Gally into a chair, then burnt his tongue off when he tried to eat a cookie too fast and swore like a sailor; Newt settled onto the couch next to Brenda and Thomas, and cracked up at Theresa's lopsided Christmas cookies; Alby threw himself into a recliner and yelled for someone to "please turn the goddamn music down" because it was blasting after Gally's karaoke session. Someone argued that they should get the music back on again; Brenda and Theresa then did a pretty duet of Jingle Bells, and were quite proud of themselves (until Minho jacked the mic from them and proceeded to sing a low, sexy version of All I Want For Christmas Is You and crushed their self-esteem). They were all talking and smiling, snickering at inside jokes and old memories.

Minho was settled on the couch, a half-eaten cookie in one hand, his other arm slung around Newt's shoulders. They were watching A Christmas Story, which was his favorite Christmas movie. Everyone was cracking up, absorbed with the movie. Minho had just finished the cookie when Newt leaned over to nuzzle his neck. It was a silent message that meant kiss me. Minho chuckled quietly. "Don't you want to watch?" he asked playfully, gesturing at the screen.

Newt's lips curved in amusement. "No," he murmured.

"Fine." Minho obediently pecked Newt's mouth, surprised when Newt caught his bottom lip between his teeth. The kiss instantly deepened, with Newt's hand curling into Minho's shirt over his stomach, and Minho struggling not to gasp with pleasure in front of their friends. They broke apart after a few minutes, their gazes meeting.

"I wasn't just playing around earlier, you know," Newt whispered. "I meant it."

Minho cocked his head. "Meant what?"

"You bloody idiot," Newt laughed, tugging on Minho's shirt and making him shudder. "When I said I love you. I meant it." He sobered then, serious and looking at Minho with so much love. "You are my life now, Minho. I love you more than I've ever loved anything."

Minho smiled at the confession, and knew in that moment, that he had never been more happy or more lucky. He pulled Newt's hand from his shirt and laced their fingers together. "Isaac," he whispered softly, so that no one would overhear, "you have my heart."


End file.
